perdus et trouvés
by always-a-time
Summary: A mainly é/e Rapunzel!AU - Eponine is tired of waiting for Prince Marius to save her from her tower, so she sets off to overthrow the monarchy with the infamous Les Amis and their leader, Enjolras. What she doesn't count on is running into Cosette and being mistaken for some long-lost princess along the way ...
1. Prologue: The Three Kingdoms

**PROLOGUE: The Three Kingdoms**

* * *

Liberté, Égalité, and Fraternité are the three major kingdoms of western Europe. Two of these three are currently under a republic, and have been for a number of years. The last kingdom, the kingdom of Brotherhood, is ruled by King Gillenormand, and his throne will eventually be inherited by a young man, his grandson, who goes by the name of Prince Marius Pontmercy.

It has not always been like this; there had been kings and queens of Liberty and Equality not so long ago, before they had fallen, or abdicated, or whatever else monarchs did to lose power. There are two legends surrounding these risen republics, but none is more famous than that of the lost princess Rapunzel.

Her mother had been the queen; the last of her line and the sole ruler of Égalité. Queen Fantine was everything the people could desire in a leader: kind, gentle, compassionate. Her rule was beloved and treasured, she was always assured her reign would be remembered; her legend sung in the voices of the people; her story told for years to come.

And yet her life was not wholly complete: it could not be, without love. With this in mind, Fantine sought companionship, and found herself awfully betrayed. She had one daughter, born in the midst of this terrible scandal. Sired by a poor man, a scoundrel - the daughter was a bastards' child. The nobles of her land were furious. They demanded she immediately dispose of the child. They could not allow tainted blood to inherit the throne. The queen was in a state of distress, for she already loved her child deeply and would do anything for her, but there was nothing to be done in the minds of the nobles short of murder.

Queen Fantine had other ideas. She sought the aid of a witch to protect her child from those who sought to harm her. Clutching the child to her bosom, she rode her steed deep, deep into the woods. The small, homely hut bode no danger, it seemed. Fantine entered, and paid a queen's ransom to save her daughter to the young witch who had, of course, a small child of her own, older by only a few years. They could be friends, perhaps, thought Fantine. The spell was cast just as the noble's armies breached the woods and surrounded them. After the commotion was cleared and the dust was settled, three things were known.

Firstly, Fantine was dead, splayed across the dirt floor in her finery, tear tracks and shock visible on her immobile face. Secondly, the witch was also dead, and her young son was left motherless and traumatized in his bed. Thirdly, the newborn princess was gone, the only clue left behind a strand of long, shiny hair.

* * *

_AN: The title roughly translates to 'lost and found'. __This is a thing I've been working on for a while, I hope it's interesting enough for you all. (: _Please review! Follow and favourite for updates!


	2. Chapter One: The Forest for the Trees

**CHAPTER ONE: The Forest for the Trees**

* * *

"Eponine!"

She is up in a flash - quite a remarkable feat, considering the deadweight of hair attached to her head. Eponine Thenardier slips downstairs and rushes to peer out the small window from the top of her tower to smile at the boy and his spotted steed down below.

"Hey, Eponine!" calls Prince Marius Pontmercy, grinning from freckled ear to freckled ear as he dismounts his horse. "Let down your hair?"

"You know it!" she exclaims, sending her long brown locks tumbling over the edge, where it lands in his waiting grasp. "Try not to fall this time?" Eponine teases, as he tugs lightly on her hair, placing his boot against the wall of the tower. It takes him a second to find purchase on the rough rocks, but he begins to pull himself up. Eponine tries to ignore the annoying little tugs at her scalp as he does.

He's still grinning as he starts to climb, although it does begin to appear a little strained as he works to pull himself up. "You fall off one tower," he huffs at her, sighing as he nears the top, "and they never let you forget it." Marius grabs a hold of her hand as she offers it, and she pulls him into the room. He seats himself on what has become his chair: a stylishly ornate wooden stool. Eponine seats herself on it's twin. These are the only things she really has to offer him to sit upon besides the bed in her loft, which is upstairs.

"Don't you ever think about leaving this place?" he asks her suddenly, his gaze moving from it's languid drift across the empty space around her to her face.

"Not really," she answers him. The truth is, if he asked her to be his, she'd leave this tower in a heartbeat. "But tell me more about the goings-on at your fancy castle," Eponine changes the subject, swinging her legs out to bump his shins with her foot. "That's always more interesting. How's M. Courfeyrac? He still chasing the handmaidens around the castle?"

Marius' face grows serious. "I discovered a letter from my father the other day. It - it turns out my grandfather has been keeping them from me. He wanted a Republic, like in Liberté and Égalité, and spent lots of time talking with the ruler. My grandfather didn't approve, so he threatened to disown him. My father ... I thought he left after my mother died, but my grandfather sent him away, saying it was the last straw. I think it was because he didn't need my father as an heir anymore: he had me."

Disturbed, Eponine reaches out to place a hand on top of his. "Are you alright? That's a lot to take in, I mean. Your father and all ... I can see why your grandfather disowned him ..." she trails off, unsure how to continue. Eponine doesn't consider herself to be good at comforting; she's spent her whole life in a tower, after all. "What are you going to do?"

"I've been doing some research," Marius goes on, "and I don't blame my father, Eponine, not for his beliefs - but my grandfather has been hiding this from me the whole time. My father - I'd always thought he was some evil villain because that's what my grandfather had me believe, and now I feel terrible. I think - I think I don't want to be royalty anymore if that's the cost. I want to leave the castle."

From his expression, Eponine could tell he was being completely serious, even as her own face shifts into a dubious expression. Marius could hardly climb a tower, let alone live without his pampered, luxurious lifestyle. How could even even consider leaving when he knew nothing about living like the poor? "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I want my grandfather to know how much he hurt me. I can't live with him until he apologizes." Marius scrunches up his face, heaving a sigh. "I have one more affair to attend to before I can leave - I'm supposed to visit Liberté and Égalité's newly elected leader. I'm actually looking forward to going now that I realize what a republic is, and how much fairer it is to the people. Then I guess I'll be looking for a new place to stay." Marius glances around her tower. "Too bad I couldn't just come to live with you, Eponine."

Her cheeks blush. "My parents would probably hold you out for ransom before the end of the day, Marius." She tries not to think too much about what it would be like to live with Marius, to have him all to herself and to not have worry about her parents or his grandfather looking for them. It was simply a fantasy; a dream that could not be.

"Maybe I'll ask Courfeyrac," Marius concedes. The son of a duke or somesuch, Courfeyrac was Marius' closest friend and advisor. The two had known each other from a very young age and grown up together. From what Eponine could recall from Marius' descriptions, Courfeyrac was a tail-chaser and flirtatious ladies' man with a wonderful sense of humor. She had the feeling she would get along well enough with him if they ever met.

"The kingdom's a big place," she says slowly, thoughtfully. "But with everyone looking for you, it's a good idea to stay away from towns and cities. That's where they'll expect you to go, and that's where you'll be most easily recognized. I'd say there's not a single man, woman, or child in this whole land who doesn't know your face, Marius."

"So the woods, then." Marius had finally seen the forest for the trees.

"You can stay nearby," she suggested eagerly, leaning forwards, "and when you come to visit me I can give you food."

Marius frowned at this, his already doubtful face tilting the corners of his lips downwards. "Don't you already not get enough to eat?"

Shrugging, Eponine waved that off. "My parents would never let me starve. I get by well enough. I can always you know," she tugged at her hair, "sell some of this, and you could go buy the food for me." She would never accept charity from Marius, but she was happy to let him buy things for her with her own money, earned from the sale of her blessed magical hair. Her mother never noticed if a few inches were cut off every once in awhile; it grew back soon enough.

"What about the rumours?" Apparently, there was a group of mischievous revolutionaries around in the woods, looking for recruits to help them overthrow the throne. They were wanted all across Fraternité, especially their leader, who had once been a prince himself according to the legends, and had left his kingdom, the kingdom of Liberté, a republic.

"They wouldn't hurt you," she snorts idly, picking at the fabric of her skirts. "You're royalty, remember? They want to overthrow you, not kill you."

"So are you," Marius retorts in return, laughter dancing in his eyes. He's convinced she the long-lost princess of Égalité, named something-or-another. Eponine just laughs off the notion like she always does, a cheerful sound. She likes that fact that Marius believes she could be a princess. It gives her hope that someday he will whisk her away to be a real princess at his castle.

"You should probably go. My mother will be here soon, and she's not afraid to hurt you," Eponine says, standing up and shooing him towards the window. Gathering her brown hair, she launches the armful out into the air so Marius can begin his descent.

Soon enough, she's watching as he rides away on his steed, Napoleon.

* * *

_AN: Marius you adorably oblivious boy. Anywhoo, the plot thickens!_


	3. Chapter Two: Installing a Republic

**CHAPTER TWO: Installing a Republic in Three Easy Steps**

* * *

Madame Thenardier clambers down Eponine's hair, yanking at the delicate roots and scalp along the way.

"Ow!" Eponine howls, clutching the sides of her temples. "Can you hurry up already?" She never has this problem with Marius, who only tugs slightly; enough to cause discomfort, but never pain. After her mother leaves, however, Eponine always has a massive headache for the rest of the day. It's a terrible ordeal, essentially.

"Shut your mouth, child! Do you want the whole kingdom to hear you? Honestly, it's as if you haven't got a single smart thought in that brain of yours. Your father and I worked ourselves to the bone to provide for you-" Madame Thenardier finally reaches the ground and releases her death grip on Eponine, who pulls her hair back up quick as lightning.

"Good riddance," she mutters, already tuning out the rest of her mother's tirade. Eponine resists the urge to plug her ears as Mme. Thenardier continues to berate her before stalking away, basket of Eponine's hair clippings on her arm.

These trips have occurred ever since Eponine can remember, whether it was her mother or her father who visited. Her magical hair - which has any number of unknown properties, the most important of which is its healing ability - is sold by her parents for a fortune. They travel from kingdom to kingdom peddling it to the rich and the poor at exorbitant prices. She still recalls the time when they had cut her hair up to her shoulders so they could travel and sell it abroad. Marius hadn't been able to climb up and visit for weeks until it had grown back, even at magical rates.

Perhaps someday she will leave, just to spite her greedy, selfish parents. Marius must have lots of room in his palace, although Eponine has never seen it before. She's only seen the tips of flags and the high-flying fireworks on holidays over the horizon of trees that serve as her view. This idea, however, is a pleasant thought, and she resolves to ask him as soon as he returns from his trip.

* * *

The parade of horses sends the villages they pass into flurries of activity as soon as the people realize who is at the helm of the team. Prince Marius Pontmercy is fully garbed in royal wear, a shining sword with a jewelled scabbard hanging from his belt, his mouth drawn tight as if he is in discomfort. Slightly behind him and to his right is the son of the Baron Courfeyrac, dressed in his own version of noble wear.

The waistcoat is uncomfortable and stuffy, Marius realizes belatedly as he shifts his position on his horse Napoleon. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to wear his most formal clothes for riding.

Courfeyrac, who was having no such problem in his casual day-wear, is humming a ditty as his own horse trotted along at a steady pace. "Having fun yet?" he asks Marius, who is noticeably adjusting his waistcoat.

"Not really," Marius admits, as their group exits the town and nears the edge of the forest. "I'll be relieved when we reach our destination."

"I seem to remember you were not looking forward to this trip. What made you change your mind? Your grandfather offered to send a royal ambassador instead," Courfeyrac says conversationally.

Marius gives up on his waistcoat and straightens his shoulders. "I want to see what a republic is like. I want to meet Valjean and ask him myself what his view on monarchy is."

"This doesn't happen to have anything to do with that letter you found, does it?"

"Maybe," Marius admits, gazing around the familiar woods. It was a shame he couldn't go say a last goodbye to Eponine before leaving, but she wouldn't want him to be dragging royal guards along to her tower. Although the day is still bright and early, Marius hopes to make it to Equality before sundown. "My father believed in it for a reason, and I stand by his beliefs." An annoying itch started somewhere on his back, in between his shoulder blades.

"So you don't want to be a prince anymore? Or king?" Courfeyrac sounds dubious. "What will you do, then?"

Marius is quiet for a moment. What was he going to do? If what his father wanted for their kingdom was a republic, and if Marius was truly going to align his goals with his father's, shouldn't he be doing everything in his power to establish a republic for Fraternité? The problem was Marius was unsure how to go about doing that. There were no books entitled 'Installing a Republic in Three Easy Steps.'

Courfeyrac is still watching him expectantly; waiting for an answer. Marius shrugs his shoulders, feeling the itch on his back intensify. Awkwardly, he stretches an arm behind to scratch at it fleetingly, hoping that it will alleviate on its own.

"Well, let me know when you make up your mind," Courfeyrac replies jovially. "I'll help you with whatever you decide, regardless of how odd it is."

"I'll hold you to that," Marius smiles at his friend. He knew he could count on Courfeyrac for anything; their loyalty to each other ran very deep indeed.

They ride along for a while longer, Marius occasionally scraping at the spot on his back; Courfeyrac switching from his ditty to a drinking song. Marius admires his friend's voice, which is very nice, a sort of rich baritone, and wishes he had thought to bring along musical accompaniment. Of course being nobles meant that they were both trained to play instruments.

"This waistcoat is killing me," Marius finally announces, after perhaps half an hour had passed. "I have to change, this is ridiculous. I have no idea why I chose to wear it in the first place."

"I'm surprised you lasted this long. I've been watching you the whole time," Courfeyrac grins widely.

Scowling, Marius signals for the party to halt so he could dismount. Two of the guards dismount as well, obviously with the intention to follow him, but Marius waves them off. "I'll only be a moment. I don't need you to help me change my waistcoat," he says crossly, stepping onto the dirt ground. "You can all carry along without me, I will catch up." One of the servants rushes forward with a clean shirt and waistcoat in hand, no doubt removed from his personal valisse. Marius thanks the servant and takes them both before making a dash for the cover of the trees, fiddling with the buttons on his clothes.

* * *

He'd only stumbled for a minute when he saw the trail. There were a number of faded footsteps that had diverted from the path in an odd direction. It was an odd direction, mainly, because it ended off at what appeared to be a rock face. Intrigued, Marius had approached it, waistcoat forgotten.

What had seemed only a flat rock face at first turned out to be a clever disguise for an entrance to somewhere else. Marius slides through the gap easily, and is surprised to see a tall tower waiting for him on the other side. It is nearly identical to Eponine's and from here he could hear a female voice singing a song he had never heard before. It is soft and lovely, the voice, hitting all the proper notes and floating down gently from the tower window. Drawn, Marius walks forwards until he's situated directly beneath the opening.

"Let down your hair?" he calls up in a moment of curiosity.

The singing stops abruptly, and Marius thinks that he's scared the mystery girl off, but soon enough long blonde locks come tumbling out the window.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Marius seizes the hair and begins to climb.

* * *

_AN: Okay, so no Cosette appearance yet, but I'm sure you all know she's up there. This is the second update in a week, my gosh. I hope you all like this. Please leave reviews!_


	4. Chapter Three: The Only Exception

**CHAPTER THREE: The Only Exception**

* * *

She was called the Lark. Where this name came from, Cosette was rather unsure, but she had been called thus ever since she could remember. 'Little Lark, _petite alouette_! Let down your hair!' was the call she had grown accustomed to, and each and every time they called she responded obediently.

There were many rules to obey when it came to the Master and Mistress Thenardier. The first rule, and the most important one, was to never let anyone else into the tower; to never let anyone discover her existence. This was for her protection, she was told time and time again, for her safety. The second rule was to never leave the tower. The third rule was to never cut her own hair. There were many other rules that had been implemented, but these three were the ones Cosette would always recall in her later years.

Despite her captivity, though, she was always cheerful. Cosette sang loudly early in the morning and softly late at night, brushing and smoothing out her lengthy golden hair. It was her pride, her vanity; it was the only thing she could say was her own, even as it was constantly carted away by Mme. Thenardier.

Cosette had always been one to follow the rules that she was so constantly reminded of, but she had broken the first rule for the first time when she was thirteen, barely old enough to peek over the tall, open window of her tower prison. Her singing had attracted a nearby stranger, a boy near her age. There were flowers in his hair and a curious look about his face as he examined the craftsmanship of the building.

Timidly, she had watched him. Mme. Thenardier had warned her against strangers who were boys and men. They were evil, vile creatures that were not to be trusted. They would harm her and hurt her. They were callous and would leave her to bleed. This boy, though, did not seem a threat at all. No sharp teeth, no pointy claws. His clothes looked worn and randomly matched, a ridiculous scarf looped around his neck and shoulders.

In all reality, she felt as if she already knew him and could trust him.

He had looked up suddenly, his bright eyes meeting hers. She'd shrunk away, but he'd already begun to call out to her. Edging back towards the window, Cosette blinked down at his smiling face.

"Hello! My name is Jean Prouvaire. You can call me Jehan, if you want."

Jehan was wonderful. He taught her new songs, songs he'd heard from passing travellers in the forest. He brought her flowers, which she adored, although she could never keep them for fear of the Thenardier's wrath. Jean Prouvaire was a hermit, a young one at that, who lived in a small hut hidden away in the forest. It had belonged to his mother, a witch, he told her solemnly. Or at least, he had supposed she was a witch, based on what he had been told.

Jehan would have been killed for being the son of a witch, if it had not been for a kind elderly priest who'd taken pity on him, telling the soldiers that Jehan had been a distant grandson of his that had been kidnapped long ago. He'd been raised and cared for by this old man, and when the time came Jehan had been the one to care for his adoptive father until his expired from age. With Myriel gone, it took no time at all for the village to turn on the 'witch's spawn', turning him out of his home.

With nowhere to turn to, Jehan had went straight to the woods, thankful for his life. He hadn't known what he was looking for until he found it: his mother's home. Cobwebs and debris were cleared, and soon, after weeks of preparation, the place was once again ready for habitation. Jehan learned his way through the winding paths of the forest; the cycles of nature's crops; the lives of the animals, althought he was strictly a vegetarian.

Cosette had allowed Jehan to be the only exception in her life up until this moment, the moment when Marius Pontmercy had stumbled upon her tower, waistcoat unbuttoned and shirt dishevelled. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the pale, freckled hand scrabble for purchase on the windowsill. If she had things her way, Jehan would continue to be the only exception.

* * *

The first thing Marius sees as he enters the room is a beautiful girl with long blonde hair.

The second thing (and the last) he sees is the frying pan that catches him in the side of the head.

* * *

She tells herself that she doesn't feel guilty, but there is definitely something eating away at the pit of her stomach as she ties up the curly haired boy with the innocent face. In unconsciousness he still looks very handsome, but Cosette steels her wills. No normal boys walked around looking half-debauched not looking for trouble. She knew there were bad people in the world and good people. Jehan was good, she was good, and this boy ... well, this boy is toeing the line between good and bad.

The shirt and waistcoat he had been carrying with him are folded and deposited on a nearby table while Cosette ponders her options.

She'd have to question him, there was no doubt about that. Jehan had found her tower, but that had only been because he knew the forest like the back of his hand. There was no stone he hadn't turned, no blade of grass he hadn't seen the wind make shiver. Jehan always assured her that there was no one who knew the area better than him and therefore no one who was looking would find her tower without his help.

The boy tied to the chair begins to stir, and Cosette braces herself, moving into a stance that would allow her to once again whallop him in the side of the head if he tried anything.

* * *

"Ohh," Marius moans. His head is pounding and that nasty itch on his back still hadn't gone away ... he went to move his arm - maybe to scratch his back or to clutch his head - only to find it was strapped rather securely to his side. He forces his eyelids open to blearily take in his surroundings.

"Good. You're awake."

Marius blinks again. If he was able to do so, he would have pinched himself. Standing in front of him is the pretty blonde girl holding a frying pan. Well, that explained the growing pain on the side of his head, at least.

"I'm sorry," he manages, "there must have been some sort of misunderstanding. I'm not here to hurt you. I just head you singing and -"

"I'm the one asking the questions here," she huffs at him, brandishing the pan in such a way that makes his mouth run dry.

"Right. Ask away," Marius tells her hastily.

"What's your name? And how did you find my tower?"

"My name is Prince Marius Pontmercy, grandson of King Gillenormand, heir to the throne. I stumbled upon your tower by accident, I swear. I saw your tower and heard you singing and well ... you reminded me of my friend Eponine. You know she lives in a tower just like this one and hair like yours - but brown! You don't happen to know her, do you?" He is grasping at straws here, he thinks.

Cosette stills and stares at him with her bright blue eyes. "Eponine? You know Eponine?" The pan is lowered a few inches in the light of this new information.

"You know her too? She's my best friend! I visit her all the time! Now, um, could you please put the pan away? I didn't come here to hurt you or anything. I was just curious, that's all. You know my name now, so won't you tell me yours?" he asks her as an afterthought, hopefulness colouring his tone.

"My name is Cosette."

"It's very nice to meet you, Cosette. Although I wish it were under better circumstances." Marius' resulting smile lights up his entire face, and Cosette feels her remaining resolve melting away at the sight of it as she sets her pan onto the table.

* * *

_AN: Young love. So sweet. So innocent. Marius and Cosette have to be one of the cutest things ever. :) More Eponine to come, I promise._

_Anna - Yay!~ I'm glad you like this so far! Thanks for reviewing. (:_

_annevalerie - Although this is going to mirror Tangled is some aspects, this is still very much my own plot. Thanks for your review._


	5. Chapter Four: Etcetera, Etcetera

**CHAPTER FOUR: Etcetera, Etcetera  
**

* * *

When Marius returns to Courfeyrac, he is in something of a daze.

"We were just about to send out search parties, Marius where on earth have you been? I thought something had happened to you!" Courfeyrac's chipperness has vanished in place of anger and concern for his friend.

This snaps Marius out of his stupor. "I - I'm sorry. I don't know what to say," he appears to be at a loss for words. "Time just slipped away, you see. I hadn't meant to disappear for so long, and I'm sorry I caused so much worry."

"M. Courfeyrac is correct in his statement - just where have you been, your highness?" The formal address does little to nothing to soften the blow of the words from the Chief Royal Officer. Javert has been the head of the royal armies since Marius can remember, although he's heard the man had worked his way up through the ranks shortly after the other two kingdoms of the land had become republics.

"It's a personal matter," Marius affirms. "Needless to say, I am unharmed and ready to continue on our journey."

Javert's eyes narrow. "I will have to inform your grandfather about this, you understand, sir. Protocol." Yes, Marius knows Javert is all about protocol and rules and the law. Shaking his head, Marius guides Napoleon up to where Courfeyrac is still watching with a disgruntled expression.

"We'll be lucky if we reach the end of the forest by nightfall. You've set us back a good hour, Marius."

"Sorry," Marius repeats to his friend. And then, in a lower tone, "I'll tell you later."

"You better," Courfeyrac grumbles, as the group starts up again.

* * *

The sky continues to darken as they go along, and eventually a few of the guards light lanterns: two of them leading the front and two in the back. Marius begins to feel the fatigue of the day wearing on him as the sounds of hooves approach, jerking him upright.

"Halt!" calls out one of the men in the front. "Who goes there? Show yourself, by order of the Royal Guard of Fraternité and his majesty Prince Marius Alexandre Pontmercy!"

"We're just travellers!" exclaims a tall, dark curly-haired man. He's mounted on a black steed, his hands held up in the air as he urges his horse slowly towards their party. Next to him is two more men on another horse, one blonde and one bald. Both looked frightened of falling off.

"They won't harm us," Courfeyrac mutters in an undertone. "The first one looks to be a drunk." Indeed, as Marius peers into the gloom he can see the bottle in the tall man's hand, and hears the slight slur in his voice.

"Where are you headed?" Javert takes up the questioning.

The curly-haired man smirks. "A nearby bar."

"On your way then, drunkard."

The three trot along pass Marius' group slowly, the blonde man nervously glancing this way and that, as if he expects to be attacked at any moment ... Suddenly it clicks then, and Marius' spins his gaze around in a panic just in time to see the figures making their way out of the shadows.

Before Javert can even speak a word the two back guards are knocked unconscious into the brush with a loud cry of surprise. Cursing, Marius and Courfeyrac draw their swords.

"You take the one with glasses, and I'll take the roguish one," Courfeyrac is already muttering as Marius swings his horse around to face their attackers. Back to back now, the two of them size up their opponents. A quick side glance shows Javert himself facing off against a spectacularly blonde-haired man on a white steed.

"I can hardly believe our luck," the man who is supposed to be battling Courfeyrac comments, easily blocking his friend's sword swipe with a small shield. He does not look very bothered, which only serves to frustrate Courfeyrac further. "The crown prince and a noble's son, all in one day? Mayhap your luck is turning about, Bousset!"

Bousset, the bald man who was seated on the horse with the other blonde man, the nervous one, must have not been a fighter. Instead, he and his companion are still seated comfortably a good number of paces away.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Marius braces himself for the first blow as the sandy-haired man slashes his sword at him. It's a strategic move; meant to disarm, not to injure, Marius notices. Still, he finds himself grateful for the training he had gone through, as well as the many hours he and Courfeyrac had spent practicing in the courtyard. He's grateful for that, and up until this point Marius would have said that that training was enough.

The man disarms him with a second blow, sending Marius' sword clattering to the ground; a sound that startles his horse and captures Courfeyrac's attention just enough for the other man to disarm him as well.

Courfeyrac's opponent grins widely at them both. "Well, that's it, isn't it? We've got you both." He angles his head over to where Javert and the blonde crusader are still locked in combat, the former looking extremely angered, sweat having broken out all over his forehead. "Hey! Enjolras! You can quit that now. We've got your prince here, at our mercy, etcetera, etcetera."

* * *

Both Enjolras and Javert look annoyed at having their sword fight interrupted, but they lower their weapons.

"Alright," Enjolras begins, "off your horses, all of you. We're not here to cause harm -"

"Yes," the drunk man off to the side comments idly, "we're just here to rob you. And then give all of our hard-earned money away to the poor."

Enjolras shoots him a look, but does not bother to negate the statement. "Bahorel, check over their packs. See if there is anything of use."

Sliding off his horse, Marius and Courfeyrac move off to the side as directed. Bahorel and his fighting companion begin rifling through the saddle packs, much to Courfeyrac's annoyance. ("And to think I brought my nicer things in hopes of impressing the ladies of Equality," he mutters in an undertone.) Things are removed and placed carefully into a burlap sack, mainly items comprised of silver and gold.

Soon enough they are finished, and the group mounts their horses once more.

"Wait!"

Marius can hardly believe what he is about to ask, but he steps forward anyways, the word spillin unbidden from his lips. "You're trying to install a Republic in my kingdom, is that true?"

"We are." Enjolras looks amused, a wry tilt to the corner of his mouth the beginnings of a smile. "What difference does that make to you, Prince Marius?"

Hesitantly, Marius glances briefly at the rest of his companions. Half of them are unconscious, but Javert is watching him with a dark glare.

"He wants a bit of privacy," snorts the curly-haired man. There is a moment of stark contrast as he trots his horse smoothly up to Enjolras; a clash of black and golden hair. And the eyes, which are both described as blue, are also different; a clear, bright blue sky and the blue of a sad, rainy day. "Granted, usually we would be the ones requesting an audience."

"We might as well hear what he has to say," the nervous blonde speaks up. "It can't hurt."

Bahorel slides off his horse and goes to untie Marius. Shaking off the tingly, numb feeling in his hands, Marius follows the revolutionaries onto a path that leads a little way further.

"What did you want to ask us about? My name is Combeferre, by the way," the sandy-haired man in glasses holds out a hand. Marius grasps it and shakes it firmly.

"I recently discovered that my father was in favor of a Republic. I've been doing my best to learn as much as I can, and I had planned on speaking with President Valjean about it, but I thought you all could best explain some of the finer points to me. It's rather hard to come across these books in my castle, if you'll understand. And, maybe, if you'd allow it, I'd like to aid you in your quest."

"He's serious. You can't be serious!" exclaims the rainy-blue-eyed man. "You're telling me you want to help us?"

"I am," Marius clarifies, now feeling rather unsure and nervous himself. "If there's anyway I can offer my assistance, just ask."

"Even after we robbed you?" questions a different man, one wearing what Marius recognizes to be a worker's cap.

"Even after," Marius affirms, and then an idea occurs to him. "And, if it's not too much trouble, you could take me with you? Not right away, of course," he adds hastily, as Enjolras raises a lofty eyebrow at him, "I still have to visit Equality and talk to the President. But after I return to my castle; I'll pick up a few supplies, and we could arrange a meeting point of your choosing?"

"And we know this isn't a trap ... why?" Bahorel snorts skeptically.

"You have my word, on my honor as both a prince and a citizen." Marius clasps his hand over his heart for emphasis, even as sweat begins to gather on his forehead. And to think only hours ago he had met the love of his life.

"Well then," says the bald man, "what's the verdict?" They all turn to Enjolras, whom Marius had correctly assumed as their leader.

"It couldn't hurt. After all, we do have this." To Marius' surprise, Enjolras pulls out a shining crown from his satchel.

"I can't believe you took that," Marius says, dumbfounded. "The whole kingdom will be after you. My grandfather wouldn't allow it to go missing."

"There is then: you make up an excuse to him, and that will be our way of knowing you've kept your end of the bargain." Combeferre catches on to his friend's train of thought easily.

"Is it a deal?" Enjolras offers his hand out.

Marius seals his own fate and takes it. "It is."

* * *

_AN: Whew! A longer-than-normal chapter for you all! We meet Les Amis and Javert in the same chapter. Please remember to leave reviews, it means a lot._

_Iris: I hope you continue to think so! Thanks for reviewing._


	6. Chapter Five: That Witchy Woman

**CHAPTER FIVE: That Witchy Woman**

* * *

It's long after nightfall when Eponine hears the voices and the slow padding of horses. Shaking herself, Eponine forces herself to get up and squint into the darkness at the lamps dangling just outside her tower.

"What on earth? Did we just stumble on what I think we just stumbled on?"

"First the robbery, then that witchy woman, now this?"

"Next time we might leave you at home, Bousset."

"So we found a suspicious tower. This is Bousset's fault how?"

"It just is. This never happens otherwise. Watch a dragon fly out of there and eat us. Chomp, chomp! That's the end of the revolution, _mes amis_."

So these were the famed revolutionaries? Eponine sighs. They seemed rather childish to her. Still, she lights a lamp and leans out to address them.

"_Bon nuite_, boys! Fancy a drink?"

"It's a girl's tower! Looks like it's not Bousset's bad luck after all." In the dimness she could make out a head of dark, mussed curls grinning at her. "And I'd fancy a drink, I don't know about the rest of them. Don't suppose you have a hidden stairwell in that tower of yours?"

"I've got rope," she smirks down at them, "You lot up for it? It might be tough luck for your friend there, though."

"You all alone up there, mademoiselle?" This inquiry from a brightly blonde-haired boy who Eponine recognized as the leader. Apparently he was a prince - he had to be if he looked like that.

"Just me and the tower. But my parents might be by come morning, so you'll have to clear out before then." Not that her parents would care about that. All they would care about was the big, fat price on leader boy's head of golden hair.

"Sounds good to me. Anything is better than the dirt floor. Drop the rope!" The curly-haired man gestures grandly with his bottle, obviously drunk enough to be shouting at the top of his lungs.

Eponine heaves her hair up and sends it tumbling over the stony window ledge. The man who had requested it leans forward, almost losing his balance.

"How much can this rope handle?" questions the leader, eyeing it.

"Best to take it one at a time in case someone slips, but it won't break," she advises as the blonde begins to climb. This could prove to be an amusing evening after all, although nearly anything was exciting when you'd lived in a tower your whole life. Inviting a bunch of strange, wanted men into her tower gave her some odd thrill.

"How're we going to get Bousset up there? He'll snap the rope, probably," one of the men adjusts his glasses in thought.

"This rope doesn't snap," Eponine calls down, annoyed at having to repeat herself as she grabs the resisting blonde-haired boy by the arm and hauls him in. "It's magical. Just tie him a harness if you're that worried." She couldn't see exactly who Bousset was, but she supposes he is either a small child or a very fat man if he's going to have a problem with the rope.

The revolutionary in her tower stares at her, straightening himself, his sharp blue eyes taking in her long, long hair. He seems to be speechless, but when he does speak his words are measured and quiet, supposedly so the others below won't hear.

"You're Rapunzel, aren't you?"

Eponine rolls her eyes. "You must have me confused with the Lark. She lives in a tower yonder," she gestures vaguely to the east. "Blonde, not brunette. See?" Eponine points at her head, rolling her eyes again for good measure.

"My apologies, then. My name is Enjolras." He looks distinctly uncomfortable at admitting this, his gaze searching hers questioningly before sweeping the room. Probably doesn't want to be known as an ex-prince, she thinks. "Perhaps there was more to that woman Feuilly called a witch after all," he changes the subject. That must have been her mother, Eponine realizes, as Enjolras turns back to face her, his face and tone now grave. "Are you being imprisoned here, mademoiselle?"

"Eponine," she corrects, choosing to cross her arms defensively over her chest. "And no, I'm not. And that 'witch' you saw was probably my mother, although I don't dispute the term; she's just as rotten as one."

A tug on her hair alerts her to the fact that the loud, curly haired man had succeeded in reaching the top. He is breathing heavily as he slides onto the floor. "That was a hell of a climb, princess." He looks up blearily, and his eyes widen as he takes in her hair. "What -"

"Magic hair," Eponine sings sweetly, enjoying the look of utter shock on his face. "No dragons in sight, though."

The eyes now narrow suspiciously. "Aren't you a long lost princess? I was only joking earlier but," he shrugs his broad shoulders, "no bother of mine. Where's the drink, princess?"

"I wouldn't give him any if I were you," Enjolras interjects, helping the drunk off the ground. "Grantaire drinks enough as it is."

"But I don't show it," Grantaire adds importantly. "On a few drinks I'm as sober as anyone else. High tolerance." He puffs up slightly, grinning.

"You'll have to wait until your friends are up, I'm afraid," Eponine answers wryly, cocking head sideways slightly, "I'm not going anywhere until then, you see." She jerks her gaze back to the window as the man with the spectacles tumbles in. "Bon nuite, monsieur."

"_Bon nuite_," he tilts a rather lopsided hat in her direction, "Mademoiselle Eponine. My name is Combeferre."

"I'm no lady," she replies offhandedly, gesturing to her plain men's clothing.

The unlucky man, Bousset, is lifted up in a harness, which Combeferre and Enjolras are currently hauling in. He succeeds in passing through the window but slips at the last possible moment, flailing windmill arms at the floor before Combeferre catches him and stands him up. "_Bienvenu_," she greets the bald man.

Feuilly, Bahorel and Joly are soon after, and Eponine's tower slowly becomes crowded with revolutionaries with muck covered boots and dirt covered, rumpled clothing.

"I apologize for our current state of dress," Combeferre tells her. "We were crossing a little known, low hanging suspension bridge to avoid detection when -"

"Let me guess," Eponine interrupts, grinning at Bousset now. "The ropes snapped?"

"It happens a lot," Bousset murmurs sheepishly.

"We're used to it by now," Enjolras adds dismissively, setting his pack on the floor. "Thank you for inviting us in, I hope you will not mind if we spend the night."

Eponine was eyeing Bousset with a look of curiosity. "Yes, of course," she says distractedly. Then, to Bousset, "Were you cursed or something? Is that why you have such bad luck?"

"He stumbled into a witch's garden and she cast something on him. We think he had bad luck to begin with; the spell just made it worse." Feuilly shrugs his own bag onto the ground, looking around. "This tower is quite small - no offense to you, of course, you live here alone - do you think we will even fit here?"

"I was just getting to that." Eponine finishes reeling in her hair and hands it all to a startled Enjolras before walking over to where an actual rope hangs from the ceiling. She grips it with both hands and gives it a huge heave. A trap door opens and a rope ladder spills out. "Up and at 'em, boys."

* * *

The loft above the room seems larger than the whole tower combined. There are bookcase and tables and chairs and paintings throughout, a lush rug underneath a skylight, and another door that leads to another bedroom.

"It's invisible," is the explanation she offers to them. This living space was Eponine's own; Marius didn't even know about it. Her parents did, but neglected to ever set foot upstairs.

At this point most of Les Amis stopped trying to look unsurprised. Combeferre pulls out a chair and sits down heavily.

"Now," Eponine rubs her hands together. "Let's see what we can do about reversing that curse, shall we?"

* * *

_AN: You have no idea how hard I find it to continually introduce characters to each other. Welp. At least most of it's handled now; I can rest easy. On another note, I now realize that quite a bit of this story includes Marius and Cosette as well as Eponine and Enjolras. Later on, there will also be a slash pairing, so in case you're not into that sort of thing I'm just letting you know._

_If you like the story please drop a review! Or if you don't want to review (which makes me sad, by the way), you can follow/favourite!_


	7. Chapter Six: Hostess Rules

**CHAPTER SIX: Hostess Rules**

* * *

Bousset looks thrilled at the prospect of getting rid of his bad luck once and for all, hurrying forwards and nearly tripping over his own feet in the attempt. Rifling through her pockets, Eponine extracts a worn key, unlocking a large creaky cabinet to reveal a row of carefully hand-labelled potions. She hesitantly selects one, a small bottle that declares itself 'hiccups' in equally tiny writing.

Bousset stares with hopeful eyes at it as Eponine offers it to him. Taking it, his fingers fumble and it promptly smashes on the floor.

"Knew that would happen," Eponine says confidently. "Now for the real one." Her hand snatches another one, this time labelled 'luck', and hands it over to Bousset, who takes it carefully with both hands, cradling it between his palms. Eponine uncorks it for him, tossing the cork back into the cupboard. All she knew was that if this didn't work, nothing would.

"Hold on, how do we even know that is safe?" Enjolras demands, stepping forwards.

"I have magic hair. If I wanted you all dead, you would be dead. Just be thankful I'm not charging you for this, alright?" Eponine shuts the cabinet, exasperated at how he kept questioning her.

Bousset takes that as his cue and empties the potion, even as Joly begins to splutter loudly at the idea of drinking an unknown substance.

"What is even in that thing?" Joly asks, horrified. He's staring at the bottle as if it contains the black plague, already backing away a good number of steps.

"Let's see," Eponine ticks off the ingredient on her fingers as she lists them, "water, a ground up four-leaf clover, fur from a rabbit's foot, and magical hair."

Bousset chokes at the second last item, but the potion is gone and the damages is done. There is a long beat of silence as they wait for something to happen.

"Oh, hell with it," Grantaire says, setting a fresh bottle of wine on the table (Eponine's eyes narrow momentarily - she hadn't given him that) and strides over to Bousset before shoving him hard.

Bousset goes sprawling onto the floor as Les Amis let out various cries of outrage.

"What was that for!?" Enjolras accuses angrily as Joly goes to help Bousset up. "Have you gone mad?"

"Anything broken?" Grantaire asks Bousset firmly, ignoring Enjolras completely.

Bousset shakes his head, "No." He shrugs his shoulders and flexes his arms experimentally.

"You know how easily he breaks things! You could have seriously hurt him!" Enjolras continues, grasping Grantaire's shoulders and shaking him roughly.

Grantaire's face is calm. "Enjolras, he's fine."

"That is not the point! You just got lucky, he -" Enjolras abruptly cuts himself off mid sentence, blinking in realization before finishing, "- got lucky?" He whirls around to stare at a now pale Bousset, who's hands were visibly twitching.

"Yes!" Eponine does a fist-pump, and Grantaire pulls away from Enjolras to give her a congratulatory high five. This was the first time she had successfully administered a potion herself, and she was ecstatic.

"I'm cured?" Bousset is still in shock as Joly frantically checks his arms and legs for broken bones, muttering about insensitive friends and 'cured not being the point'.

"You've got the same luck as all of us," Eponine confirms, a proud smile flashing across her face. "Or pretty close. I don't know how potent the dosage is or anything."

Enjolras turns on her. "You've never tested this on anyone before?" He doesn't like the idea of Bousset being used as a guinea pig.

"I haven't; my parents have. First time I've ever done it personally," she clarifies, glaring at him. "Don't think I don't know what I'm doing! My parents use these all the time without fail, and I make each and every batch myself, testing the ones that I can."

"I'll take your word for it then," he nods stiffly.

Bahorel yawns loudly, stretching his arms over his broad shoulders. "Time for bed now, I think. Too much excitement for one evening; I'm exhausted. We can test the limits of Bousset's newfound luck tomorrow." Bousset, who is enjoying the ability to walk about unhindered, looks slightly put-off at this statement.

"You can wait until tomorrow," Enjolras says fondly. "Your bad luck won't come back if what mademoiselle says holds true."

The enormity of his new life seems to sink it all at once, and Bousset gasps loudly, dropping to his knees in front of an embarrassed Eponine. "Thank you so much! I've had this curse for so long and now I'm free, all thanks to you!" He takes her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I'll find a way to repay you, I promise."

Eponine looks even more uncomfortable at this declaration, if possible. She looks down at her hand as if a wild animal had just licked it. "Thank the hair, not me. I just cart it around."

Bousset brightens, "I'll carry it for you, if you want."

"Come on, time for sleep, not this odd worship thing." Feuilly flicks Bousset's ear. "Stop scaring her."

"I'm not frightened - not of any of you," she answers, flaring up again as her face turns red. "You're just a bunch of boys which is nothing I can't handle."

"Well, I hardly think against all of us you'd stand a chance," Grantaire says idly, downing the remnants of the wine he was holding with one hand and unrolling a blanket from his pack with the other. Eponine had to admit she was impressed at his dexterity, especially when he was so obviously plastered. "Show me my space of floor, milady."

Eponine was now scowling openly at him. "You can sleep outside for all I care, Grantaire."

"Stop insulting our hostess. I'm sure that she's got plenty of tricks in that hair of hers," Bahorel yawns a second time, laying out his own blanket on the soft rug. "Dibs."

"Not fair!" protests Grantaire, pushing an annoyed Enjolras out of the way to address Bahorel. "Why do you get it?"

"Hostess rules," Eponine states blandly before retreating to her own room. "I'm up at sunrise, so you all better be awake, or I won't be responsible for squashed limbs, fingers and toes," she adds as an afterthought, peeking her head out from behind the door as she reels her hair in.

"Maybe she is a witch after all," Grantaire mutters, watching as Bahorel deliberately curls up on the lush rug.

* * *

Courfeyrac pushes his fingers against his temples. Marius was his friend, yes, his best friend, but even friendship had its limits. After dinner Marius had only had a few glasses of wine, but it was definitely enough to make the poor boy drunk out of his mind. Still, even drunk as he was, Marius had to see that this was reaching the point of insanity.

"And to think!" Marius exclaims, still oddly charged despite the lateness of the hour. "If I hadn't stopped to take that detour, I never would have met my Cosette. What a tragedy that would have been." Marius falls silent for a spell, and Courfeyrac takes this as his chance to try and sneak out of the room unnoticed.

"Courfeyrac?" Marius asks suddenly.

Courfeyrac spins around in bewilderment, guilt written clearly on his face. "How do I do what?"

Marius appears serious. "How do you live without true love?"

A pause.

"Good night, Marius," says Courfeyrac.

"Wait! One last thing! I think I'll see Eponine once we get back home. Do you think she'll believe in true love?"

"I think she'll want to throw herself out of that tower of hers," Courfeyrac replies, making long strides to the door, leaving the prince alone to pass out on his bed. Although he feels like a bad friend for doing so, after enduring a whole evening of pure torture Courfeyrac hopes Marius wakes up with the worst hangover in recorded history.

* * *

_AN: Don't feel too happy for Bousset just yet, I have evil plans in the future. :) So yes, I'm pretty capable of being terrible. And I love love love writing lovesick Marius. It's just to easy to poke fun at him. Don't forget to leave those important reviews and whatnot, it persuades me to update faster! Next chapter should have some more Eponine/Amis interaction with Marius thrown in to the mix. If we're lucky, we might get back to Cosette and Jehan!_


	8. Chapter Seven: Do You Believe?

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Do You Believe in True Love?**

* * *

Eponine rises a good hour before dawn. Outside is still quite dark, but on the edge of the horizon there is a hint of paler sky peeking behind the trees. Tugging on a loose-fitting blouse and a pair of working man's trousers, Eponine breezes out of her room barefoot, careful to avoid trodding on her guests.

She'd noticed yesterday that the boy named Enjolras had something to hide. Years of watching her father and Montparnasse had honed her observation skills to the point where she could detect things easily. Well, actually, the only people she had really ever observed were her father and Montparnasse. Marius was rather honest and open to the point where practically anyone could read his expression, she thinks, as she maneuvers her way over sleeping forms, past Grantaire, who is splayed a pace away from the trapdoor, to where Enjolras is asleep in a chair by the cabinet, his arm draped around a satchel that is slung around his shoulder.

Chewing on her lower lip, Eponine readjusts her arms - which are wrapped around her bundle of hair - and tries to think of a way to open the satchel without disturbing him. From the size and shape of the lump, which is partially obscured by his limp arm, she guesses it to be circular. Enjolras jerks slightly in his sleep, and the satchel slips and hits the armrest of the chair.

Slowly, she reaches out to grasp the button of the bag, carefully managing to slip it through its hole. Shiny gold metal peeks out from within. Snatching it up like a magpie, Eponine resists the urge to scream. This is Marius', she recognizes it and knows it to be his for a fact.

_"First the robbery, then that witchy woman, now this?"_

So these idiots had actually been stupid enough to rob the Prince's crown. Part of her mind is hopelessly laughing at the kind of confrontation that must have occurred, and the other part is occupied with getting the crown back to Marius.

Someone behind her stirs in their sleep, making her jump slightly. Eponine drops the crown back into the pouch and buttons it before sneaking back into her room to mull it over.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us? You are more than welcome to," Enjolras tells Eponine as Les Amis pack up their things, ready to march into the heart of the kingdom to ... well, to gain support of the people, Eponine supposes, and whatever else it took to overthrow the monarchy. Briefly, she wonders what exactly Enjolras plans to do. It wasn't as if there was a manual on the subject.

"I'm happy where I am, thanks. Have fun on your revolutionary trek without me." Eponine waves sarcastically at him. "Now," she turns to Joly and Combeferre, who are categorizing some potions she had given them. "please repeat the rules."

Joly, who is attempting to hoard all the health-related ones to himself, looks up at her, blinking. Combeferre takes the opportunity to sneak some back from Joly into his own pack.

"Don't use them on food, don't mix them, and don't attempt to make them ourselves. Yes?" Feuilly asks her.

She nods in response.

"I don't suppose you have a potion that turns water into wine?" Grantaire is eyeing the stock with undisguised interest.

"I already thought of it." Eponine passes over a tiny stoppered bottle. "One drop per ," she emphasized. "Try not to use it all at once and remember to share."

"I won't want," Bousset pipes up, "I'm going to be too busy enjoying being able to do things normally to drink."

There is a sudden shout from downstairs. "Eponine? You there? There is something I'd like to ask you!"

Eponine's cheeks go pink as her heart stammers in her chest. Marius wanted to ask her something! She wanted to dance and cheer, but there were still a band of boys in her loft.

"Not a peep out of any of you!" she hisses at them before climbing down the rope ladder and shutting the trapdoor behind her. Then, in a louder, sweeter tone: "Hold on, Marius!"

"Marius?" Enjolras repeats dubiously, staring hard at the spot where Eponine had vanished. "Prince Marius?"

"Looks like she might have neglected to mention something," Bahorel snorts.

Grantaire splays himself on the floor, pressing his ear to the door. "Shh, listen up!"

* * *

"So what is the big question that had to be asked so early in the morning?" Eponine teases, even though her stomach is full of butterflies. Today was finally going to be the day when Marius asked her to leave her tower and be his, she just knew it. All these years of waiting was finally going to be worth it. She would tell him all about how Enjolras had stolen his crown and he could leave and bring a whole army to defeat them and spirit her away to his kingdom, where they would profess their love to each other and have a fantastic royal wedding to boot.

"Do you believe in true love?" Marius' smile is beatific.

Her heart soars. "I do! Of course I do, Marius!" she enthuses, beaming at him. "Is that it?"

"Well," Marius begins, "I was on my way to visit President Valjean when I ended up taking a detour by myself. I had this terrible itch, you see, and I had to change my clothes - but nevermind that, you'll never guess what happened next!"

"You had an epiphany?" Eponine asks, excited. He'd realized she was the only one for him; that simply had to be it.

"Very nearly so! I discovered another tower! And inside was the most beautiful girl with long hair just like yours! So, naturally, I asked her to let down her hair - like how I ask you, you know - and she did! She's even more lovely up close. Do you know her, Eponine? She seemed to know you. Her name is Cosette, by the way, and it's the most perfect name I've ever heard. I'm sure she must be the long-lost princess. Remember how I thought it was you at first, but you told me you weren't so it must be her - say! Are you two sisters or something?"

Eponine slowly shakes her head as the onslaught of information registers, her shoulders slumping.

"Oh," Marius continues, still looking thoughtful, "too bad. You're like a sister to me though!" He was staring at her now, so she flashes him a smile, even as her insides seem to twist in on each other. "I think I'll go see her after I meet up with those revolutionaries - speaking of which, I have to go prepare for that. I just wanted to stop by and say hello." He grins at her again, and she nods numbly in response. "I'll see you soon after, although I don't know when it will be."

_Say something!_ her brain berates her, _Don't just sit there like a smiling idiot!_ Eponine knows she has to do something, say anything to make him listen, make him stop and see her.

"I won't be here," she tells him.

"Won't be here?" Marius repeats, brow furrowed. "Where are you going?" He glances around, as if searching for it.

Eponine sets her jaw, composing her face. "I'm joining the revolutionaries." It wouldn't do to tell him who, of course; it also wouldn't do to tell him they were upstairs right now, probably listening in on their very conversation.

Ruffling his curls, Marius resumes grinning at her, "That's funny, 'Ponine. I'll see you, alright?" He gets up to leave, and Eponine rises as well, robotic in her movements.

"I'm serious," she insists. "I will. I am going to join them."

Marius takes the loops of hair from her arms and throws it out the window. "No time for games today, I'm afraid." Marius lowers himself over the edge and begins to descend down the stony wall.

Fine. Eponine crosses her arms and stomps her feet. He would eat his words when she showed up with them at his precious meeting. Or when he called up to her empty tower. Eponine would be with Les Amis trying to overthrow his grandfather's stupid kingdom for good. She leans over the windowsill in time to see him gallop away for the second time that week without a second glance.

* * *

_AN: A sort-of fillerish chapter maybe. I don't really know. And some character development at the end with Eponine._


	9. Chapter Eight: Make Me a Rebel

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Make Me a Rebel**

* * *

Grantaire flips open the trapdoor and jumps down with a large thump, startling Eponine. "Prince Marius, huh? You've got a thing for him and that's why you wouldn't join our revolution?"

"He's just Marius to me," she snaps in return, still annoyed. "He's not the one oppressing your people, alright? He's - he's -" Eponine was having problems searching for the right word.

"Clueless?" offers Bahorel, who had also lowered himself into the room.

"Why do you even like him?" Joly sounds perplexed, as if it was that simple. "He obviously likes that other girl."

"He's ... nice," Eponine mutters, refusing to look at them. "And funny ... and lots of other things that I'm not telling you, so there!" She is scowling full-on now, her previously sunny mood completely crushed by Marius' announcement.

"You're a lot nicer to him than you are to us," Grantaire says, still upset about the rug incident. He shoots a sideways glance to Bahorel, who grins at him knowingly.

"I'm coming with you all, aren't I? Or did you miss that part while you were eavesdropping?" Eponine challenges, her hands on her hips as she goes across the room to rummage for a pack.

Combeferre rakes a hand through his hair, shrugging at the group in general.

Enjolras appears to be as annoyed as she feels, albeit for a different reason. "You can't be serious. Just a moment ago you were completely against it, and now you want to come?"

"Well, I changed my mind." Eponine grips the ladder for the trapdoor as Bousset offers it to her, and proceeds to haul herself up. "I'm going to pack, and then we can go."

"You've lived in a tower your whole life," Enjolras adds pointedly, not convinced.

Eponine snorts audibly from upstairs. "You can't possibly believe that. I know my way around these woods better than you. I've lived here my whole life, as you say." Nothing had ever stopped her from going for twilight walks, and these boys weren't going to stop her from going with them. Simply put, she wasn't going to let them retract their previous offer. "And you were the one who offered," she reminds him. Eponine isn't going to take flack from some blonde ex-prince, regardless of his charisma and good looks. She'd raised herself better than that.

Enjolras sounds almost apologetic as he replies. "I just don't want you making a hasty decision that you'll regret later. You're not exactly the definition of a rebel."

"You can make me one, then. Trust me, the only people with regrets will be Marius and his monarchy," Eponine quips, stuffing some more things into a worn bag. She uncorks one potion to pour over the lot so nothing will break. She adds glass vials and bottles to the mess of stuff before tying the bag shut. Eponine's isn't one for neat packing. Slipping her bag over her shoulder, she goes to unlock a small jewellery box on the desk in her room, emptying the contents into a small pouch that she kept tied around her waist.

"Ready?" Combeferre asks as Eponine comes back down, landing almost silently on the balls of her feet. Enjolras still appears disgruntled, but raises not further objections.

Eponine turns to smile impishly at Bousset. "Looks like you get to carry my hair after all."

* * *

A tall boy cloaked in a ridiculously bright hooded cape is watering flowers in his front yard, which just so happened to be located in the middle of the forest. The wildflowers are doing quite well, he thinks to himself, and they do not require magical assistance of any kind, despite Cosette's heartfelt offers.

Jean 'Jehan' Prouvaire looks upwards, peering past the filtered sunlight to check the approximate position of the sun. It is late afternoon now; around the time he normally goes to visit Cosette, actually.

The two of them had first met by accident, he remembers. He had been wandering in the woods, trying to work out the muffled notes he was hearing when he'd found her hideaway. Since then they'd been the best of friends, even though Cosette's parents had told her to stay away from strangers. Sometimes Jehan would climb her tower and she would let him braid her long hair with flowers. All in all, it was a splendid way to spend the afternoon. Or most of his afternoons, since she was really the only person he paid house calls (tower calls?) to.

A short walk later, he finds himself staring up at Cosette's lovely dimpled face. "Oh, Jehan! I have the most wonderful news!" He's never seen her this lovely or dimpled before; her smile is wide enough to split her entire face in half.

Jehan now finds himself slightly wary of her enthusiasm, but he smiles nonetheless. "What?"

"I met a boy, and he wasn't all like Mme. Thenardier said boys were like. He was nice! And he has freckles, like you. His name is Marius, and oh, he's going to come visit me again later today!" Cosette is beaming brighter than the sun as she releases her blonde hair. Jehan watches it sail down the side of the tower, almost hitting him in the face. "Oh! I'm sorry about that," she calls down, waving her hand in the air. "Are you alright?"

"I'm a boy, too," he points out instead as he grips her silky mane of hair. "You're not scared of me. Or, to be more direct, you weren't scared of me when we first met."

"You're different," Cosette says offhandedly. "Marius is different. He couldn't harm a fly, I'm sure of it." She helps Jehan in as he reaches the top.

"Yes, well, what are you going to do?"

Cosette's chipper cherub face becomes confused. "Do?"

"About Marius. You can't spend your whole life in this tower. Eventually you have to leave," he tells her truthfully.

"How about you? You can't be a hermit for the rest of your life," Cosette retorts stubbornly. "You'll have to leave, too."

"I'm happy where I am, Cosette," he shifts on his seat a bit. "You and Marius won't be happy if you stay locked up in this tower. In order to have a proper happily ever after you have to both live in the giant castle." Jehan knew at heart she was just as much of a romantic as him. "That's how the fairy tale works. I think you'll make a very lovely princess, by the way."

"What happens if you stay in your little cottage is that you won't meet the right girl," Cosette says confidently, looking as though she thinks she's won the conversation.

"Somehow I think that's not the problem," Jehan sighs. "But when is Marius coming by next? I want to meet him." And make sure that this boy was really as nice as Cosette said he was. No one was going to be taking advantage of Cosette while he lived and breathed.

"Sometime today," Cosette grins widely again, giving off a kind of blinding sort of happiness. She clasps her hands together on her lap. Jehan notes that the 'good dress' has made an appearance today; a floaty, periwinkle purple thing that reminds him of lilacs. "I'm sure you'll both be the best of friends in no time at all!"

Jehan nods, although he's not sure because he has the feeling they won't. It's not in his nature to be as easily trusting as her; he's been alone for far too long for that. Anyone who could win over Cosette so quickly still gave him reason to be suspicious. "I suppose I'll just stick around until then."

Cosette looks excited, shy, and a tad nervous all at once. "Do you think you could finish braiding my hair before he get here?"

Her enthusiasm is infectious. "Of course, Cosette. I'd love to."

* * *

_AN: Well, it's back to school for me, with the heaviest course load I've ever taken. :/ Hope to see you all very soon for the next chapter, although I'm unsure how likely that will be._


	10. Chapter Nine: Growing Out and Growing Up

**CHAPTER NINE: Growing Out and Growing Up**

* * *

Laden with Eponine's long hair, Bousset trails begin slightly, ensuring that none of the smooth strands got tangled or snarled in the trees' low hanging branches or the multiple thorny bushes. This meant, however, that he wasn't very privy to most of the conversation that was going on at the front of the party.

Combeferre, who had been momentarily distracted by that last thought, turns back to face Eponine. "Why don't you just braid your hair? Wouldn't that be simpler?

"Who would have the time or patience for that? It'd take hours!" Grantaire interrupts, tilting a flask of something-probably-alcohol into his mouth.

"You could cut it, perhaps," Combeferre goes on.

"Fat chance! My parents will be enraged as bulls already with my disappearance. No point making it worse by cutting my hair. They'd kill me," Eponine states directly. All her parents care about is money; they didn't give a burlap sack about any of their children.

"You don't sound very concerned about them," Enjolras notes, slowing his pace to walk beside her.

"I'm an adult. I can do what I want." She holds his gaze challengingly.

"Damned if he doesn't let everyone do what they want," Grantaire says, nodding sagely. "That's his motto. Or something similar, at any rate."

"It is not my motto," Enjolras retorts through a stiffened face. "I just believe in freedom from the monarchy. That doesn't mean or imply anarchy at all."

"I'm hardly being anarchical by not cutting my hair," Eponine points out.

"You are when Bousset is carrying it for you."

"He wanted to! He literally volunteered!"

"Most of the people of Fraternité have deluded themselves into believing that the monarchy is good for them!"

"Will you two just stop? Bousset has not been deluded into carrying Eponine's hair, although I do agree on the fact that it is slightly frivolous to cart around." Combeferre deliberately steps between them, causing Eponine to lean around him to glare at Enjolras.

"Subject dropped," she declares then, as if daring him to say otherwise.

Enjolras ignores them both and treks on alone.

* * *

Occasionally there came the sounds of birds and other small woodland creatures that Joly was convinced were large, mammoth bears dying to eat them, so they finally stopped at a small bar not too far off from the outskirts of the more populated villages. They were not to meet Marius until later in the afternoon, so they had time to pick up some supplies, much to Grantaire's delight. Combeferre places an order with the threatening-looking bartender as the rest of Les Amis seat themselves at a table only to find themselves surrounded by more threatening-looking men.

Eponine is the only one at ease besides Enjolras and Grantaire, and is in the midst of amusedly watching Joly twiddle his thumbs on the table top as the blond man's eye flicker nervously around the room. "Quaint place you lot picked," she says off-handedly.

"I'm sure they're lovely people," Joly squeaks, as if declaring otherwise was an invitation to have all his bones broken. From the next table over, a man burps loudly, causing Joly to start in the direction of Combeferre and Feuilly, who are both walking over with trays of food.

Next to Eponine, Enjolras stirs slightly, a tiny straightening of his relaxed posture. His eyes become more alert, turning from pools of blue into what could have been the sky reflecting off of a hard, shining blade. Just as she begins to ponder this sudden change, the same man from the next table over speaks up, leaning forwards to squint at Enjolras' blinding golden head.

"Haven't I seen you someplace b'fore?" Scratching the back of his burly head. The man is heavyset, which a firm line for a mouth and a sloping forehead. There is a pair of glasses tucked into his front pocket, Eponine notices with a note of confusion, and there is a small, maroon book sitting on the table in front of him.

Enjolras turns calmly to face him. "Me? I don't think so, sir."

"No, really." He frowns, then nudges his tawny-haired companion, who was reading his own book under the table. "Don't he look familiar?"

"Huh?" Stare. "Maybe. Don't get a lot of faces like that 'round here." A short shrug of wide shoulders, and then he returns to his page, thumbing it carefully.

"I'm quite sure we've never met," Enjolras says firmly. "I'm very good with names and faces, myself."

The burly man does not seem convinced. "No, I've seen you somewhere, just ..." As he trails off his gaze searches the room, before landing on a poster tacked on the wall, the one Enjolras had been trying valiantly to ignore. "That's you!"

Eponine follows the gaze and chokes back laughter. There, pinned crookedly to the wooden pole, is a picture of Enjolras. Or, rather, a picture of how Enjolras would look with Bahorel's nose. That was not to say Bahorel's nose was unattractive. On Enjolras' face, it just looks plain ridiculous, she thinks.

If he was disturbed, Enjolras didn't show it, and she gave him points for that. "Look at that -" He gestures to the nose with a practiced hand. "- does that look like me?"

It might have been more convincing if Grantaire and Bahorel hadn't been guffawing in the background, eyes watering.

"'Wanted'," the man reads out, sounding out the last word. "'Enjolras. Known to be travelling with six com-pan-nee-uns.' Sure looks like you and your friends here."

"We have six and a woman in our party," Enjolras counters.

"So what should we care if you picked up a lass along the way? No offense, of course, miss." The man pauses. "I like your hair."

"None taken," Eponine says lightly, smiling. "And thanks, I'm growing it out."

Laughing rings loudly, starting from the pit of the man's stomach all the way up to his mouth. It's a boisterous, deep sound that seems to shake Joly, who rises abruptly from his chair and excuses himself to the bathroom. The man takes his seat, swinging the chair around so that he's leaning forward against the backing. "I like this one. Feisty," he nods in approval. "What's it like travellin' with this bunch?"

"Like having seven children," Eponine says smoothly, propping her arm around Grantaire's shoulders. "Isn't that right, R?"

Grantaire nods weakly, the last of his tears streaming down his face as Bahorel snorts a few more times before blowing his nose into a napkin.

"Well, what brings a lass like you to these parts?"

Eponine appears thoughtful as she considers what she wants to say, before deciding to be honest. It wasn't as if all of the others didn't already know about her and Marius.

"There's ... a boy. We've known each other for a long time, but ... he's fallen in love with someone else," Eponine starts haltingly. "He's being a complete idiot and I have to show him that. If this is the way to do it, so be it. I'll do whatever it takes."

"That's a lovely dream," interjects the man at the opposite table. He had put down his book, and is now focussing quite intently on the conversation at hand. "I once loved a lass who had eyes for my best friend."

"What happened?" Grantaire asks interestedly.

"The two of them married," answers the man at their table, shaking his head.

The second man raises his goblet. "Let's have a toast to the young lady here. I hope you an' that boy find happiness."

"I'll drink to that," Grantaire agrees, stretching over the table to clink cups with him.

Eponine, now assured and radiant at the outpouring of support, smiles. "Thanks." She raises her own goblet in recognition.

Noticeably, Enjolras' drink remains firmly attached to the table. The man in Joly's seat frowns at this.

"How about you, rebel boy? You have a girl back home that you want to see?"

* * *

_AN: asrturtu. ; u ; Sorry. I can assure you that this will continue to be updated, if not at a good pace. I hope you enjoy this shortish chapter and that it will tide you over until I can push out some better, longer updates. I haven't really looked this over, so sorry for any mistakes._


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